


Save Me From Who I'm Supposed to Be

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Battle of the Bands, F/M, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, adam's a drummer ronan's a bassist wht more do you want, i dont know anything abt music so this should be fun, think fun summer romcom as my inspo here, thts right yall its a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: HENRIETTA BATTLE OF THE BANDS 2017Auditions: May 31st, 2017*Begins: July 1st, 2017Ends: Sept. 2nd, 2017Prize: Professional Recording Time, Scholarships, Official HBOTB 2017 Merch, Eternal Bragging Rights, and More!!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> yall can tell by those dates how long its taken me to write this huh gkdnfndnf
> 
> anyway, title from 5 seconds of summer's song "Social Casualty," since i drafted those tags i still know nothing abt music, and hey! ive only got the prologue and first chapter done but lets see where this goes yall
> 
> (the song tmatm sings for their audition is the lumineers' sleep on the floor!)

Blue had seen the flyer on the board outside a thrift store she frequented. The paper was eye-catching, like most of the ones around it. Brightly colored, bolded font, and an added touch of flame clipart that she found particularly amusing.

HENRIETTA BATTLE OF THE BANDS 2017

AUDITIONS: MAY 31ST, 2017*  
BEGINS: JULY 1ST, 2017  
ENDS: SEPT. 2ND, 2017  
PRIZES: PROFESSIONAL RECORDING TIME, SCHOLARSHIPS, OFFICIAL HBOTB 2017 MERCH, ETERNAL BRAGGING RIGHTS, AND MORE!!

And at the bottom, in a tight print that she strained to see, it read: *please see "https://www.botb.org/henrietta/rules-and-regulations" for eligibility requirements.

She snapped a picture of the paper, vowing to look it up when she got home before she let her hopes crawl any farther up her throat.

\-----

Noah had seen it in the gutter. Ronan had once likened him to a raccoon the way he went after anything midly eye-catching, and while he'd disputed it then, he felt its truth settle around him now as he crept closer to the bright flyer.

It had only taken the words Battle and Bands for him to be interested. Though, the water on the asphalt had bled the ink thoroughly across the page, leaving the other information illegible.

He tugged out his phone, swiping past his lockscreen and pin code, before typing the words into his search bar.

Immediately, the website popped up, and he grinned, seeing that they hadn't missed the deadline yet.

\-----

"Adam," Blue said. "I'm going to show you something, and you're not going to freak out, okay?"

The boy squinted at her from where he sat, perched on the edge of his thin mattress, relacing his work boots.

"Blue," Adam said, his tone even, and maybe a twinge mocking. "You know the moment you said that I already started freaking out."

She did, of course, know that. So, in the spirit of not prolonging her best friend's misery, she tossed the stack of papers into his lap. 

He looked at them questioningly, eyebrows drawn together.

"Hear me out," she said, holding her hands up as she watched him stare down at the front page. "I can actually explain myself this time."

He turned his sharp eyes to her. "Battle of the Bands?" he asked. "We play in your mom's attic to the old oak outside and maybe Gwyn if she feels like being personable; that's not a band, it's a party trick."

"But we've got Calla if I use the right blackmail," she said jokingly. "But that's not the point," she waved her hand around her severely barette-d hair, dispelling the unnecessary words. "Look at the third page."

Obligingly, Adam shuffled through to page three. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the words, reading them slowly, as not to misconstrue whatever was so important to Blue.

"Oh," he said softly, finger coming up to trace the words again. "That's…a lot of money."

"Exactly," she said, her skin thrumming with electricity. "And I know TMATM isn't something that you want to pursue career-wise, but we'd be stupid not to at least consider something so perfect."

His face scrunched up. "No offense - because your voice is amazing - but we're, at best, amateurs. The other bands - can we even compete with them?"

"We could always find out at the audition," she said, stepping a few inches closer.

"When is it?"

"Wednesday," she replied.

"Wednesday- Jesus, Blue. That's day after tomorrow," he said, rubbing his face. "What are we even going to play?"

She just grinned, that wicked, blooming grin that had once upon a time made Adam swoon, but now filled him with a slight sense of anxiety and an even more so overwhelming sense of excitement.

"I have a few ideas," she said.

\-----

"Czerny, what the fuck," Ronan said, looking at the flyer in his hands.

"You know exactly what the fuck," Noah replied easily. "I may be naïve, but I know you can _read_ , Lynch."

Ronan huffed out of his nose at that, mumbling something under his breath as he tried to shove the paper back at Noah. "No, I've got less nerdy shit to do in my spare time."

"Ronan, come _on_ ," Noah groaned. "Gansey's already on board, and we need three members. Besides, where would we be without you killing it as our bassist?"

"Are you really desperate enough already to stoop to flattery?" Ronan asked with a droll stare.

"Worst comes to worst, we don't make it past the audition, you lose a couple hours on a Wednesday night. But if we _do_ make it through, Gansey has a shot at showing his parents that the last two years of his life haven't been a waste, Declan has to eat all that shit he said when you told him you weren't going to college, and I get to show my family that all those music lessons as a kid weren't in vain."

Ronan shook his head. "You're crazy, Noah."

"So you'll show?" Noah asked, pleasantly surprised at how short the conversation had been. 

Ronan shrugged. "Guess you'll find out Wednesday."

\-----

Adam hadn't done laundry in two weeks. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem, but today of all days was the worst day to realize his predicament.

Wednesday.

God, he still couldn't believe he'd let Blue talk him into this. As he tugged on his jeans, and searched for a clean-enough shirt, he thought of ways to get out of it, each one more outlandish than the one before.

He couldn't use his car as an excuse; Blue had gotten her hands on the family car for the night, and she and Calla were to pick him up.

He couldn't use work, Blue had been there when he'd called out, and his boss had been so relieved he was asking for a personal day there was no way he could say he'd been called in.

Schoolwork wasn't an option either, considering he'd sat on Blue's bedroom floor the night before and finished it all off while they went over song choices.

Nerves were out, since he had too much pride to admit that he even had them. Though, he assumed in Blue's own way she knew without him having to say a word.

So really, he had nothing, and thus, was totally screwed.

A knock sounded at the door and with a sigh, he made his way across the room, slinging the door open.

Blue gave a low whistle. "Wow, seduction, I didn't think you'd stoop so low to get out of this," she said, giving his chest a pointed look.

He looked down, realizing he still hadn't found a shirt. "You wish, Sargent," he replied, snatching up the nearest shirt - a plain, dark gray tee - and tossing it on over his head.

"Can't say I do, Parrish, but I will give you that all those heavy boxes you've been lifting are really working out the core. It's finally catching up to those drummer's arms."

His face, barely light enough for a visible blush, tinged blood red under the compliment. "Wow, over the top compliments, didn't think you'd stoop so low to get me to play along."

She grinned up at him, dangling earrings swishing around her jawline. "You ready? Calla's in the car alone, so we've only got a few minutes before she takes off and goes home."

"Yeah," he said, slipping the thin cord around his neck - a good luck charm attached to a bit of nylon that Blue had gifted him when they were twelve.

"Oh, the big guns," she commented, fingers playing at the flap of her cut-off overalls. On her feet rested patterned and painted Converse that she'd picked up in the spring on the cheap and embellished to a Blue Sargent Clothing Distress level of acceptance, which she scuffed against his floor in a rare show of nerves.

"Can't hurt." He shrugged, a loud horn sounding from the church's parking lot. 

Blue groaned at the ceiling, but quickly turned to Adam and wrapped her soft arms around his waist. "We're gonna do great, just so you know," she said.

"Thanks for the heads up."

\-----

Ronan shrugged on his leather jacket before flopping down onto the couch of Monmouth, trying to decide if this was really worth it.

He knew bailing would mean leaving Noah and Gansey without the third member they needed to compete. He also knew that the three of them were the worst at social interaction - enough so it was a miracle even they were all friends - which meant they wouldn't have anyone to call in as backup. Unless Gansey called Helen - now there was an idea.

No, as much as Helen loved her brother in her own Gansey way, she'd let him down on this one. The thought of having to deal with Gansey's moping around the factory for the two months it took him to get over it was enough to propel Ronan toward the door to stuff his feet into his boots.

The shit he did for Dick Gansey and Noah Czerny. 

\-----

Two boys stood off to the side, stark contrasts to one another. One bore a multi-colored neon snapback and a light smile, while his warped mirror stood grandly in an atrocious yellow polo and neatly knotted boat shoes. Calla eyed them with thinly veiled wonderment and disgust.

"What kind of weird shit did you get me into?" she asked, tossing her wave of tight brown curls over her shoulder so she could look down at Blue.

Blue shrugged, adjusting her half-clipped overalls before turning to find Adam looking around in more disgusted wonderment than Calla.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get us checked in, don't die and don't let Calla deeply offend anyone while I'm gone," Blue instructed, brushing her bangs out of her face - she'd forgone almost all of her clips that day, instead, tying the top layer of her hair back in a simple ponytail.

Adam nodded, though he knew if it came down to it, he wasn't stopping Calla from doing shit. Calla, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, snorted under her breath.

Blue darted off before a catastrophe could be had, her ponytail bouncing energetically behind her. Adam kept his eyes on her until she got to the sign up table, where he promptly lost her to the crowd.

Calla hiked her case up higher on her shoulder, plum-painted lips pursed gently. "Come on, Parrish, let's see what we're up against."

\-----

Ronan showed up with four minutes to spare for their audition. Noah's face bloomed with excitement upon seeing him, smacking Gansey's arm repeatedly even after Gansey had seen him.

"Could you be anymore of a sore fuckin' thumb, Gans?" Ronan asked, looking at Gansey's yellow polo sadly.

"I think you fit in enough with this crowd for the both of us," the boy shot back, middle finger coming up to adjust his glasses.

Ronan grinned at Gansey's quick quip, turning to face Noah now. "And hey, I know I'm looking good today, but Jesus, take a picture," he said, pulling the boy's snapback - an awful mix of neons - farther down on his brown curls until it covered his vision.

"Hey!" he cried, swatting Ronan's hands indignantly.

\-----

"Hey, I'm Henry Cheng," a boy, not much older than Blue and Adam, greeted. His hair, spiked to high heaven, was the first thing Blue noticed about him, the second was the silver bee pendant around his throat.

"Blue Sargent, Adam Parrish, and Calla Johnson," Blue said, reaching to shake the boy's hand.

He took it enthusiastically, before offering his own to both Adam and Calla.

"Blue - that's an awesome name. You know I've got to ask-"

"It's on the birth certificate," Blue said with a definitive nod of her head before the words could leave Henry's lips. "Mom's a psychic, it comes with the territory."

Henry's eyes lit up at that. "Really? That's awesome! Hey-"

"Cheng," an older man called from behind Henry, his voice stern. "Leave the learning of the life stories for when you aren't on the clock," he added wearily.

"Right, yeah, sorry Mr. Greenmantle. Anyway, I'm Henry, and I'm the host. Just think of me as your much cooler Ryan Seacrest," he explained. "Behind me are your judges - they have a say in the initial selection process, but you won't hear much from until the finale, should you make it through. 

"That's Colin Greenmantle, the producer who's providing the recording time, beside him is Piper Greenmantle, she and her family are providing the scholarship funds, and last but not least, the current curator of HBOTB, Mr. Malory himself."

"Hello," Blue said politely, flashing Henry a smile as she sidestepped him to extend her hand to each of the judges. Adam followed behind quickly, knowing the value of a first impression, and Calla, not wanting to be left out, trailed behind them.

There were a few more pleasantries before they were seated in front of the folding judges table.

"So," Piper said. "Tell us a little bit about the band."

"We're The Mirror and the Magician," Blue began. "It started with Adam and I, just vocals and a beat, but when we realized we were in need of a little extra oomf, we pulled Calla in on guitar. She's usually on bass, but she brought her acoustic today," Blue said, easily taking the spotlight as Calla unlocked her guitar case and Adam settled himself on the wooden box he'd use for a beat.

"We play a wide variety of music, including both covers and originals. We prepared something a little more laid back for today, but we're definitely capable of upbeat stuff too," she explained, Calla tuning her guitar to the cadance of Blue's voice.

"Wonderful," Piper said, her smile unsettlingly wide.

"I think we're about ready to start, yeah, guys?" Blue asked, looking to her sides for confirmation.

Adam nodded, an encouraging smile on his lips as he brushed dusty hair from his eyes. Calla was even gracious enough to award Blue a thumbs up and a small smile as she finally stopped fiddling with her guitar.

"By all means, Miss Sargent, take it away."

Calla strummed the first chord, her dark fingers caressing the sound from the strings. Adam fell in step, the beat a familiar one under his hands. He remembered the first time they'd ever played it - sitting in Blue's bedroom, with him using pencils and a desk as his drum set and Blue filling the rest of the space with her voice.

" _Pack yourself a toothbrush, dear, pack yourself your favorite blouse_ ," she sang, her voice rough and bouncing, wavering in all the right places. 

" _Take a withdrawal slip, take all of your savings out/_ " she continued, painting pictures of open roads and cross-country trips and safety in Adam's mind.

He let himself fall into her voice, into Calla's somehow both bittersweet and hopeful playing, into the beat beneath his hands that ran through his wrists and up his arms like a living, breathing creature.

\-----

Noah had decided that since they didn't have much else to do until their turn, they should watch the other auditions as 'research.'

Ronan hadn't sign up for research, but being friends with Gansey apparently meant it followed you into all parts of your life.

They stood off to the side, a few feet from the audition area - which just happened to be a thick, velvet curtain, a few stools, and a judges tables - and observed as another three-member group went through the paces.

The first thing Ronan noticed was how short the lead singer was. The second thing he noticed was how soulful her voice was for such a tiny body.

She looked like she'd fallen out of one of the 90s magazines Noah hid under his bed for style inspiration and pretended didn't exist, but the rest of her was somehow timely and timeless, like one of Gansey's legends. 

The woman on guitar was a stark contrast. Cool dark skin, dark eyes, and a bright white tshirt. There was a patch-filled jean jacket next to her that Ronan guessed was hers, but it almost didn't go with her dark wash jeans and faded Toms. 

Her eyes were closed behind her wide, clear-franed glasses, and her purple lips let out soft harmonies every now and then.

The boy on the drums, however, was different than the both of them in the most indescribable way.

If asked, Ronan would say the first thing he notoced about him was his rumpled appearance. T-shirt flatteringly tight through the shoulders, but still wrinkled around the torso. Jeans crumpled. Shoes scuffed and scraped to hell and back. Hair sleep-mussed.

But it wouldn't be the truth.

The first thing Ronan noticed about the boy with the clear blue eyes and the dusty-gold hair was his smile.

It was quiet in the way that everything around them was loud. Drastically, unbearably, chaotically. Ronan could tell he was holding back, but even still, there was this genuiness to it that Ronan could feel all the way in his chest.

The boy was skilled, too. That was what Ronan noticed next. His hands, long fingers and naturally tan skin, letting the beat flow instead of trying to tell it where to go. It was impressive. It was enthralling.

And that was before he even opened his mouth.

They seemed to be edging through the chorus of their song, when it happened.

The lead singer fell silent for a verse as the guitarist sang, " _If the sun don't shine, for me today_ ," in a voice that was higher and sweeter than Ronan had expected.

" _And if the subways flood and bridges break_ ," the boy agreed, his voice as soft as his smile with that underlying wild spark that chimed in his eyes. 

" _Will you lay yourself down and dig your grave_?" the lead singer asked, injecting something terrible and beautiful into her voice.

" _Or will you rail against your dyin' day_?" they all asked in a haunting harmony that made Ronan's skin buzz and his eyes unfocus for a split second.

"They're really good," Gansey said, his eyes on the lead singer.

"I'd hate to see them with their actual instruments," Noah replied, watching in an odd fascination.

"We're fucked," Ronan proclaimed cheerfully.

\-----

"That was amazing, you guys," Piper said excitedly. "There's so much raw talent sitting in front of me right now I don't know what to do."

Adam ducked his head under the praise, even if it wasn't explicitly for him, as he got to his feet.

"Which is why I'll pass it to Colin, for a little feedback before I start rambling."

Colin leaned forward, his face void of any emotion, like a blank canvas and a Renaissance cherub had a baby and that baby was a facial expression.

"I'm not one for weird indie folk music," he prefaced. "I like what I can put on the radio."

Adam felt his shoulders sag immediately. He'd been riding the high of playing that he hadn't even thought to check in on their audience for how things were going over.

"That being said," he began. "I enjoyed what I saw. You've got some kinks to be worked out, but you've got the stuff. I'll say yes."

Malory waved his hand witheringly at Colin. "Don't listen to him, it doesn't matter what can be put on the radio, it matters what you make the audience, no matter how big or how small, feel. And I feel like I just saw one of the final three. It's a definitive yes from me."

"I think we already know where I'm leaning," Piper said. "Welcome to HBOTB, The Mirror and the Magician!"

\-----

Ronan watched as the lead singer turned on her heel and threw herself at the drummer, latching her arms around his throat and rocking back and forth quickly, her feet barely scraping the ground. 

The drummer paused for a split second before he wrapped his arms back around the girl, burying his face in her hair.

The woman on guitar stepped forward to the judges and offered them each a handshake and a kind smile. Ronan couldn't hear what she said over the crowd of chatters around them, but it looked to be amicable thanks.

So, they got through.

\------

Calla had already collected her guitar, and thus, was ready to leave, but Blue had stopped her and Adam before they could make it so much as ten feet from the audition area.

"Hold on, I gotta see this," she called to them, effectively bringing them back into her orbit. She'd gone for the power move of clipping the carabiner that the keys were hooked onto to her belt loop, and then shoving the keys into her pocket. They weren't going anywhere without her.

Adam fell into place behind her, dropping his chin onto the top of her head, trying to see what she was seeing.

It came to him in the form of sunshine yellow and a wave of nausea. 

"Singer?" he asked Blue quizzically of the boy in the polo shirt.

"Doubt it, too twitchy," she replied easily, arms crossed over her chest.

When he dropped onto the box where Adam had been not even five minutes before, Adam nearly choked on his own spit.

"There's no way that kid has any rhythm," Calla said, shaking her head distastefully. "I'm calling it now."

Blue hummed something that might have been agreement or disapproval for Calla's frank observation.

Previosuly blocked by a few straggling people and staffers was the lead singer, if him sitting where Blue had sat was any indication of his place in the band's hierarchy. It was then that both Adam and Calla recognized him - or rather, recognized his horribly colored hat, which now sat backwards on his tight curls.

"Guitarist's a bassist like me, not used to an acoustic- and in that get up he either thinks he's hot shit and isn't, or our ears are about to be graced by a gift sent directly down from the guitar heavens, kiddies," Calla added, shuffling around her guitar's case so she could lean on it in a way that only looked cool when she did it.

Adam had to maneuver himself to be able to see the guitarist, who was obscured mostly by a wide staff member who'd stopped in front of them.

"Oh," Adam said softly, eyes finally landing on the guitarist.

Blue cast her eyes up for a split second, the skin around her lips pulling down slighty as that between her thick eyebrows pulled together, but when she turned back, Adam could feel the smirk radiating out from her heart.

Adam had a lot of practice in identifying trouble in quick glances. This boy, with his buzzed head and his startling blue eyes and his stretched tank top that hung off of him in all the best ways, was trouble.

From the dangerous glint of his teeth as he shot a roguish grin to the drummer, to the curve of his neck as he bent over his guitar to tune it, Adam was sure of it.

Then again, Adam had always seemed to attract trouble wherever he went.

"Look alive, Parrish," Calla called under her breath as the drummer began with his beat.

It was something infectious, something that seemed to hum through every nerve of Adam's body. He couldn't place a name to the song, or even the original artist, but these boys, all wildly different, knew how to make it their own.

\-----

"All right, Lost Kings, show us what you've got," Piper said, leaning her head on her fist and watching with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

The moment Gansey started in on his beat, Ronan decided he'd fully commited himself to the competition. 

Maybe it was the premise of competition as a whole. Ronan knew he was competitive, knew that trait lived inside him like his bones and his heart - but this, this felt different. The room felt like electricity bolting through his body. The sound of warmimg voices and tuning instruments like ice cold water against his skin.

He felt so alive, and that made him want to make this moment last forever.

\-----

The lead singer's voice strained like he'd put everything he had into it, and punched like a sugar rush. His energy manifested around him with the bounce of his curls as he shimmied from atop his stool.

The drummer - despite Calla's initial prognosis - had a precise way with his timing that seemed to add an odd sort of edge-of-your-seat thrill to the song's beat - Adam couldn't wait to see him behind a set, with sticks and ample room. He was wildly subdued, a storm beneath perfectly tanned skin and an atrocious outfit. Adam could feel his competitiveness rising in his gut in the most exciting way.

But even still, between them all, it was the guitarist who looked the most into what they were doing. Brows pinched in concentration, he bent over his guitar, black ink shifting across the back of his neck as his fingers rolled across the strings like a wildfire. 

The singer released something that Adam couldn't make out from his lips, a grin punctuating the note he was carrying, and the guitarist threw his head back, releasing a loud call that brought forth a nose-scrunching smile from the drummer. 

It would be the only noise to come from him aside from the guitar, but Adam found himself itching to hear his voice, wondering if he could sing or if he was just a hype man. Somehow, Adam was sure it was the former.

As the song began winding down, Adam watched, mesmerized, as the guitarist slipped his hands across the bridge of the guitar in equal parts gentle- and wildness in a complicated succession of chords to draw them to a close.

"Damn," Calla muttered under her breath, already hauling her case back into her grip. "They're good."

"Yeah," Blue mumbled faintly.

"Mm," Adam hummed in agreement, eyes tracking the lopsided smirk the guitarist drew across his lips as he flung his arm around the drummer's shoulder and ruffled his awkwardly gelled hair.

"So. Practice, Fox Way, Friday night?" Blue asked, turning to look up at Adam.

"Oh, definitely," Adam said. "We either need to acquire a shitload more of talent in the next month or pray for a few dozen miracles."


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this on the fly, so nothing really to say this week!

Ronan Lynch was sleeping as peacefully as Ronan Lynch could. Wrapped up deeply within the maroon of his sheets, legs tangled in his comforter, fingers curled in but not yet a fist. Peaceful.

A girl, no more than fourteen, stood at the edge of his bed, short hair pushed back from her curiously comprised face. Her eyebrows were pushed high, a syrupy sweet smile gracing her lips.

"Wake up!" she cheered, her forearm crutch beating against the footboard of his bed gleefully.

"Fuck off," he huffed tiredly in return, knowing exactly where to point his gesture once he freed his hand from where it was pinned under his chest.

"But _Ro_ ," she bemoaned. 

"But nothing, brat," he grumbled, burying his face deeper in his pillow.

"Fine. When Declan shows up after not finding you at church, I'll just direct him to your bed, because that'll go over _so_ well."

Ronan paused the litany of curses on his tongue, opting instead for a small, half-hearted, "It's already Sunday?"

"Yep," Opal agreed. "And you have an hour to get showered and dressed and be to St. Agnes."

"Damn it."

"Oh, and don't forget Gansey and Noah're coming over for practice today."

"Aren't you just a regular PalmPilot," Ronan seethed as he finally swung his legs over the side of his bed, letting his feet hit the floor before he began disentangling the bedspread from them.

"You have the best insults, _grandpa_ ," she jabbed back. "I'm hanging out with Persephone today, but I'll see you later when the boys show up," she added before heading for his door.

"You know how fuckin' weird it is that you hang out with your boss's weird friend on your days off?" he called, hand to the side of his head as his hammering headache finally caught up with him.

"Maura's my mentor, not my boss, and Persephone isn't weird, she's eccentric, asshole," Opal retorted through what Ronan would imagine to be pursed lips. "Bye!"

"Yeah, yeah, bye, be safe, all that good shit."

"That's real fuckin' rich, Ro!" Opal said, already shouting from the depths of the house.

Ronan rolled his eyes before he could think better of it. Opal had taken a job - not a mentorship, no matter how hard she tried to spin it - at this hippie "psychic" parlor over on Fox Way a few months ago and ever since it seemed to be all she did.

Not that Ronan could really fault her - from what he'd heard, Maura, the owner, was nice enough, and Persephone was teaching her some tricks of the trade for free. Plus, it all paid well, and essentially, from what she'd told him, all she had to do was shelve putrid teas (which she brought home samples of and Ronan would throw away when he came across them) and buffer between clients with a little small talk.

It sounded like absolute hell to Ronan, but Opal really had always thrived in the deepest corners of his nightmares.

A car door slammed outside, loud enough that it sent Ronan nearly out of his skin before he realized it was just Opal catching a ride with Maura's daughter - Cobalt or some kinda shit like that. Hell, this early in the morning it was probably Persephone herself.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, stubble pricking the pads of his thumbs as it crawled across his jaw and up to the crown of his head.

Great, on top of it all he had to shave too.

\-----

When Blue thundered down the stairs at eleven, there were already lively voices rising from the kitchen. Neither Calla's sweet pitch nor Adam's gooey tone drifted into her ears, so she knew she still had time.

Her tank top, a particular shade of faded navy blue that had been sliced at the ends to form a curtain of tassles, swished around her as she hopped down the last few steps and streamed toward the kitchen.

Jimi and Orla and Gwyn were all perched around the table, the former two debating over a pile of crystals while the latter of the three filed her nails and hummed loudly over her tablemates' chatter.

Persephone was at the counter, a cup of tea at her elbow and a tarot deck shuffling between her capable fingers. She was explaining something to her new protégé, Opal, holding the young girl's attention in the palm of her hand.

Finally, there stood Maura Sargent, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a stack of mail in the other. She looked up right as Blue made it to the fridge, pulling her mug away from her face to quip a quick, "Morning."

"Morning," Blue replied, pulling a cup of yogurt and a jug of pink juice without much of a glance inside the fridge.

As each woman in the room realized Blue was up, they chorused a light good morning and ushered it off to her, which she replied to in kind.

Finally, Blue deposited herself and her breakfast on the stool next to Opal, looking over the girl's shoulder at the day's lesson.

"Hey, Blue," Opal intoned, not taking her eyes off the cards.

"Hey," Blue said with a smile. "Learning anything good?"

"Persephone's finally agreed to give me a reading this afternoon," she replied.

"You're moving up, might as well replace me," Blue joked as she pulled the top of her yogurt - key lime pie, that's new.

"Oh, I've already measured your room, the movers'll be here Wednesday," Opal shot back easily, pulling a deep grin from Blue. 

"Mom you're okay with your baby girl being replaced like this?" Blue called forlornly.

"This is why you're an only child," Maura said blandly, the barest hint of a smile quirking at her lips.

"Traitors, every one of you," Blue shot back.

"Your ally has arrived," Persephone said before Opal could stoke the Blue Sargent Drama Fire. "Adam's in the driveway."

Opal's eyes widened, her mouth barely finding the words. "Oh my God, how did you know that?" she hissed.

"Relax, kid, you learn to pick out the sound of that shitty car of his over everything else, it's nothing special," Calla called drolly as she strolled into the kitchen, the missing piece to the women of Fox Way puzzle.

"You think you'd be nicer to your new bandmate," Adam's voice snarked from the entryway.

"I don't have to be nice to shit before noon on a Sunday, Adam," Calla replied, but her lips were blooming into a smile much like her namesake. Try as she might, Calla loved Adam and his combination dry humor/low bullshit tolerance. On their good days, they truly were a force to be reckoned with.

"Yeah, well, be glad I'm even here to be mean to," he grumbled, swinging his arms around Blue's shoulders and tugging her back toward his chest. Pressing his cheek to the crown of her head, he hummed his hello to her. "It's too early, Blue," he muttered, eyes falling shut.

"You have work last night?" she asked.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" he huffed.

Blue's eyes crinkled at the corners as a laugh bubbled in her chest. "Point taken," then, softer, "You can take a nap in my bed before practice if you want."

Before he could protest, Maura, surprisingly, piped in. "Perfect. I got an emergency call and I've got a client coming in half an hour, I was trying to figure out how to maneuver without Calla, but that would work out."

"You ask too much of me, Maura dearest."

"Get over it, little Calla Lily."

Adam snorted against Blue's hair, silent laughter shaking his shoulders. "Get me as soon as they're done with their client, all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Blue said, waving him off. "Sweet dreams."

Blue felt his middle finger press into her back before he pushed off, stopping only once to greet Opal - who was more than pleased to see him - and then continuing on to Blue's room.

Once he'd left the room, Opal had finished off her conversation with Persephone - who had gone to join Maura in the parlor - and was turning on the spinning stooltop to face Blue.

"Bandmate, practice, please tell me this is about the battle of the bands," Opal grinned, a spark in her eyes.

"Sadly," Calla said before Blue could even open her mouth. "Wha'd'you know about it?"

"Ro and his quote 'geek ass band of merry men' got in so I've gotta keep up to date on it, which I guess means I've got to keep up to date on y'all."

"Can I call conflict of interest?" Calla finally tried a moment later.

"No, because this isn't a court of law?" Blue said with an incredulous look toward her, then, to Opal, "The Mirror and the Magician respectfully look forward to crushing them in competition."

"Normally I'd be 'go, Blue' and all, but I don't know about this one," Opal said, baring her teeth not unkindly. "They're actually really good."

"Every self-respecting, b-list, teen movie needs a bitter rivalry," Calla commented lightly, snatching an apple up from the counter and crunching soundly into it. "There you go," she added, words muffled by a twisted grin and a hunk of fruit.

\-----

"Jesus, Ronan," Declan growled, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose harsh enough that Ronan idly wondered if he could break it doing dumb shit like that just for the drama of it.

"Not my given name, but go on," Ronan retorted, his own hand not bothering to still in his lap, instead opting to nervously patter out a beat against his thigh and the rough fabric of his dress slacks.

"A band," Declan finally hissed.

"That is generally what they're called, but I've heard that group or ensemble are acceptable synonyms."

"Would you be serious for a second?"

"All right. One. Oh, there it went." Ronan leaned dangerously far back in his chair, the front legs coming up off the tile beneath him as his hand flicked his seriousness away.

"Look, I get that you always have to be in little Richard Gansey's hip pocket, but have you had one coherent thought of your own about this? Maybe thought about how ridiculous this shit sounds? A _band_ , I don't know how else to stress this to you."

Hand over his heart and lip pouted comically, Ronan replied, "Yeah, well, take your time - I know getting those old gears going is hard for you."

"Whatever - find me when you're ready to be serious about your future, Ronan."

And with that, Declan swept up from their table in the far corner of the little diner they'd sequestered themselves in, and flew out the door. Naturally leaving Ronan with the bill as an extra fuck you.

Slapping the required bills down on the table, Ronan pushed his chair back and stormed out right behind his brother, hoping when he hit the door the bell chimed louder for him than it had for Declan.

He could feel the anger buzzing under his skin, vibrating his bones and muscles. Declan usually had that effect, though.

Snatching his mostly unused cell phone from his pants' pocket, he jammed his fingers through Gansey's number, the only one he knew by heart, and stuffed the phone between his ear and shoulder.

While he waited for the line to connect, he loosened his tie and pushed his sleeves high up his forearms.

"Is everything all right?" Gansey answered.

"I'm still in one piece," Ronan replied, anger gnashing like a shadow behind his teeth. "Where are you?"

"Monmouth, but I was about to head to the store."

"Give me twenty minutes."

"Are you sure-"

"It's fine, Gans." Click. Ronan dropped his phone back into his pocket, where it would reside for presumably another few years until it was needed again, and started off for his car.

\-----

Adam woke slowly, one eye cracking open and then another. His eyelashes felt thicker than usual, his lids heavier in the same way. 

The curtains over the window were flung open, where they hadn't been before he laid down, showing a more settled, saturated sky. 

He blinked in succession, rolling to his side to find Blue's clock. 

**2:27**

Huffing, he rolled out of Blue's bed, a groan finding itself in his throat. His feet hurt and his back hurt and his hips had given off an ungodly popping when he stood up.

Cracking his back, he headed for the door, not bothering to straighten out his work clothes, and barely even remembering to nab his shoes from where they sat beside the door.

The stairs protested under his socked feet, creaking in all the places he knew they would, but didn't care enough to avoid. Neutral level voices met him near the bottom of the staircase, and by the time he got to the kitchen doorway he could make out what they were saying.

"We need something upbeat, get people moving." That was Calla.

And then Blue, "Yes, but we _also_ want to show that we're more than just your run of the mill hype band. We need to showcase your bass work and Adam's drums in ways that aren't conventional. The judges are looking for something fresh, but still comfortable."

"Look, I know you're gonna do what you wanna do in the end, I'm just saying think about it."

"Calla, no, I want your opinion, it's just - I need this. Adam needs this."

"Damn it, Blue." Adam could picture her pursed lips and her wavering eyes before he even saw them. 

"Yeah, damn it, Blue," Adam chimed as he strolled into the kitchen.

"Hey, good, you're awake!" Blue instantly perked up from what seemed to be the precipice of tears.

"Y'all in here getting emotional without me?" he asked, hopping up onto the stool beside Blue.

"Hell no," Calla replied, but her puckered lips said otherwise.

"Right," he grinned. "What're we debating?" He decided to not push the issue of Blue leaving him for what was obviously longer than what she'd agreed to. But only because her bed was that comfortable, and not because he was too tired to get into the emotions that were brought about at what this competition could mean for the both of them.

"Set list," Blue said easily, a pen cap now jammed between her teeth. "I figured there's no sense in practicing the songs we aren't even going to be performing."

"No sense in getting burnt out on the one's we are gonna perform either - c'mon," he said, waving them after him as he trailed from the kitchen as lazily as he'd entered it.

"I can't argue with that!" Calla called after him, hot on his heels. Calla was notorious for hating a song after playing it three times, so Blue really should've seen that coming.

Rolling her eyes goodnaturedly, Blue got to her feet and chased after them.

\-----

"Any particular reason you felt the need to accompany on my quest for toothpaste and and cheese sticks?" Gansey finally asked. He and Ronan had sat through a silent car ride, silently gotten their buggy, and silently made their way through half the market, so Ronan wasn't sure why he felt the need to break their streak now.

"Isn't that what I do anyway, Dick - accompany you on your quests?" 

Gansey rolled his eyes as he dropped a bag of chips into the cart. "Not in any productive way, no," he replied as Ronan picked at the label on a 2-liter of Mountain Dew.

"But I'm always there," Ronan retorted.

"Well, yeah, but-" he paused, looking up from the bag of pretzel rods he was examining. "Ronan, what's this really about?"

Ronan moved on to a bottle of Pepsi, picking at until it pulled away from the silvery-white backing. "Declan said some shit at lunch," he stated flatly.

"Which was- were? Nevermind. What'd he say?"

If Ronan had pushed Gansey to a territory of insecurity in his grammar, then maybe he'd drawn this out enough. And really, was there any place better to tak about what was eating at you than the poorly lit aisle seven of an unfamiliar grocery store?

"About me always having to be in your hip pocket- not having my own thoughts. It's his same old bullshit, but it rubbed me the wrong way today, man."

Gansey's eyes pinched at the corners behind his glasses, nose furling up. "That _is_ bullshit," he agreed. "You're the most free-thinking person I know. You looked at the beat of everyone else's drums and said 'fuck you,'" he added, and Ronan couldn't help but crack a small grin at how _serious_ he managed to be.

"As flattering as that is, Gans-"

"No. No, you know what? C'mon. We need to go check out."

"Oh, say we do."

"Yeah, and then we're going to go out to the Pig, and I'm going to call Noah, and we're going over to the Barns."

"Now?"

"Yes, now," Gansey bit back not unkindly. "And we're going to practice and we're going to show Declan that, that you're amazing at whatever you set your mind to. We're going to be the best damn band that competition's ever seen and we're going to win and then we can see what he has to say about that."

Red heat crawled up Gansey's neck and rested in a splotchy pattern across his ears and cheeks. His Adam's Apple bobbed slightly, and the hand gripping his cart had lost all the blood in its knuckles.

"No need to pop a vein, Gans," said Ronan, but what it meant was _thank you_.

"Shut up," Gansey replied, and it meant _you're welcome, asshole_.

\-----

Calla was sitting in soft gray sweatpants and a tank top, hair tugged up off of her neck in a spilling bun, and glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose. 

Her bass - finally, blessedly, she was back to her bass - was rested across her lap, balanced against her right thigh. She usually preferred to stand while she was playing, but now, with her hands sliding lazily across the instrument, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

The music she plucked from the chords surrounded them, the only sound in the room. It was a new song she'd been working to memorize, one she thought Blue would appreciate - though she'd never admit that to Blue.

"Jump in if you know the words," she joked, eyes closing as she came to her favorite part.

Surprisingly, it was Parrish who butted in.

His voice was unique, a spark in a pile of kindling. Sharp and smooth and runny, an eggshell in a busted yolk, glass in an overflowing puddle of rain. It echoed - not literally, no, but it bounced around in his chest. He bared everything when he sang.

But Adam Parrish never did sing for long.

He ducked his head after one loop through the chorus, neck no doubt heating up, and instead went back to fiddling with the fraying edge of his jeans.

Calla rolled her eyes as covertly as she could, still keeping pace with herself and the song until it was over.

"How long have you been practicing that?" Blue asked, angling her body forward slightly.

"Couple days?" Calla guessed. "I know it's rough, but," she shrugged, leaving it there.

"A little, yeah, but it's still good. Hey, can you play that part again - the one Adam was singing on?"

Calla nodded, resetting her hands for the exact part. She started it over, listening to Blue go through a rapid range of voices.

"That one," Adam said of Blue's last voice, a goldilocks of sound. Not too serious, not too playful; not too high, not too low.

"Okay, that part again," Blue said to Calla. "And a harmony."

Calla nodded, picking the chords once more.

Blue's voice kicked out at the edges as she tested the boundaries of the lyrics. Her voice climbed higher up her range, the vein in her neck thumping along to the beat Adam seemed to find in the lulls of her voice.

Her fingers played through the air, tracking her voice until-

It snapped like a taught thread, cutting out before she could complete the note.

She inhaled, but found her place back in the trail of the song and picked back up. Closing her eyes, a sure sign of deep concentration, she climbed back up the scale. It was as her fingers flicked outward that she lost the sound again.

"Shit!" she muttered, her hand clamping into a fist, nails digging into her palm.

"Drop it lower," Adam instructed Calla. "It's too high, she'll bust her voice before she gets it to withstand the note."

"Is that the scientific term for it?" Calla asked with mock drollness, but still obliged, letting something…darker fall from her instrument. "It doesn't even sound-"

"No, no," Blue said, pointing at the guitar frantically. "I can work with that, I'll definitely have to do a little adjusting on the arrangement, but that's perfect. Adam, try out some different tempos 'til you find one that fits?"

\-----

Noah was clanging around on his keyboard, entertaining Opal, by the time Ronan and Gansey arrived at the Barns.

Opal didn't bother to greet Ronan, but she did spare a fist bump for Gansey. Not so secretly, Ronan thought that was how she greeted the boy because of how he floundered each time, always going in for a handshake first before remembering.

"This song," Noah greeted, voice pressed to his hand and muffled as if it were a microphone instead. "Is called 'Thanks For Never Texting Me Back, Ronan'."

Ronan rolled his eyes as he plugged in his amp and started tuning his bass. Noah pattered out a vaugely familiar tune and sang, "Mmm, mmm, fuck you, Ronan," punctuated by the single chime of his triangle.

Gansey cracked a smile from behind his drumset, and Opal had unabashed glee on her face. Ronan flipped him off without even looking and adjusted the settings on his amp.

"Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week," Noah intoned into his "mic", ending his jaunt with a trailing finger down the keys, instead of up them.

"Cut the shit, Czerny, you're lucky you've even got my number."

"Ah, yes, silly me, I _should_ be grateful that one of my oldest and dearest friends deigned to give me his direct line. How could I forget?"

"No wonder you guys sound like three different bands when you play," Opal interjected with a roll of her eyes. "You never actually play together."

"I'm going to have to agree with Opal," Gansey added.

"That's just because you're afraid she'll metaphorically salt your coffee," Ronan huffed.

"Yes. And literally, too. But also, maybe we should actually rehearse in our rehearsal time - revolutionary thought, I know."

"Look, I'm not saying you guys aren't good, because Gans, Noah, you are, but I've already started scoping out the compe _tish_ and it's gonna be a dead end road for you guys if you don't get it together."

Gansey turned sharply toward her, his eyes throwing daggers that coming from him were more like butter knives. "What do you know."

"Thought you'd never ask," Opal beamed, spreading her hands in front of her, inviting them all to sit as if it were the 1500s and she was going to spin a yarn in town square.

\-----

"Oh! Found the drummer," Calla whooped, holding her phone up triumphantly. 

Their instruments had been discarded once the combination of numbers on the clock and brightness of the moon became too hard to ignore. Instead, after their hearty first practice, they'd traipsed up to Blue's room to a) crank the radio, b) eat what didn't necessarily qualify as a healthy dinner, but was a dinner nonetheless, and c) track dowm their competition on one social media account or the other.

"Jesus, listen to this," she continued, reading the Instagram bio that's reflecting in her glasses. "Richard Campbell Gansey III. Myth Enthusiast. Story Seeker. Always looking for the #LostKing. 'Life is either a great adventure or nothing.' - Helen Keller. And then it links to their official page."

"Story seeker," Adam repeated blandly, just to make sure he'd heard that correctly.

"Yep," Calla replied with a loudly popped 'p.'

"How'd you find him so quick? I'm still tracking the singer," Blue pouted, her head hanging upside down over the side of her bed, one leg propped up, her other foot atop it.

Calla shrugged. "Turns out I've been following his hot older sister for a year. Small world."

"Hey, hold on, what's the band name?" Adam interjected. "Lost Kings?"

"Which one'd you find?" Calla asked in lieu of a formal response.

"Ah. Bassist."

"You mean the hot bassist you mooned over for their entire audition," Blue said drolly.

"Like you weren't ogling the self-proclaimed Myth Enthusiast," Adam snarked back.

She shrugged. "He has good arms."

"Hey. Best them in musical combat and then you two can sleep with the enemy," Calla tutted quickly, waggling her fingers in their general direction.

"Who said anything-" Blue began to squawk, nearly upending herself from her spot.

"About that," Adam finished for her, neck pinking.

"Oh, don't even try to front, Parrish, the sexual desperation is all over your aura."

"You said you didn't _do_ auras," Adam interjected quickly, hoping to throw her off the topic.

"I don't, but if I _did_ , you wanting to get with-" she spared a cursory glance at her phone's screen. "Ronan - what kind of fucking name - would be plastered across it."

Adam simply rolled his eyes. 

\-----

Gansey sat sprawled across the Lynch home living room floor, carpet pressing patterns into his exposed arms and neck and legs. His glasses crooked on his face and his hair slightly disheveled.

Opal was lying beside him, her feet by his head and so forth, phone tucked neatly in her fast moving hands.

Noah didn't fare much better, slumped against the arm of the chair he was inhabiting, curls spraying every which way, drool tracking from the corner of his round lips.

Ronan sat primly in the crook of the couch, face blank as ever, foot tapping out a silent beat.

Between the hours of rehearsal, the food in their bellies, and the varying hours of sleep they'd all gotten the night before, they were sufficiently down for the count.

"Opal," Gansey began, vying to keep himself awake. "What did you say the name of your friend's band was?"

"The Mirror and the Magician," she replied easily, never taking her eyes off the group chat with her school friends.

"It's a peculiar name. Noah, don't you think it's peculiar?"

"We're literally called the Lost Kings, dude," Noah replied tiredly.

"Well, yeah, but. The Mirror and the Magician. It says something. It's a statement."

"What'd you slip into Gansey's pizza, man?" Noah directed toward Ronan.

"He's just like that after eleven," Ronan said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"It's just interesting," Gansey said finally. 

"Whatever you say, Gans."

\-----

It tracked on like that, restless days of practice that bled into one another. Hours that didn't seem to produce any sort of advancement until one day someone would snatch a new note from the air or a sound would "vibe better."

 

Until finally, three days before the first show of the competition, a few dozen emails pinged with the same message.

\-----

From: hbotb2017@gmail.com  
To: itsbluetoyou@gmail.com, adam.parrish1@gmail.com, cljoffoxway@gmail.com

Greetings, **The Mirror and the Magician**!

It's your host, Henry Cheng, here to once again congratulate you on making it through to the first round of competition! And also provide you with those much needed details.

Our crew has been hard at work putting together the stages on which you will be performing, but with just enough time, things are complete!

As you are well aware, in the beginning, because of our wide roster, the rounds are split across two nights of intense competition. We're so excited to tell you that you'll be performing the **first** night, in the **second** slot, against _The Grind_.

(And while it's not required, you're highly encouraged to attend both nights of competition! You could be competing against one of those groups sometime soon!)

_Please have at least one member of your group respond to this email with a confirmation, and you'll be all set._ The address and any further instructions are included in the PDF linked below.

~ Have a Rockin' Day,

Henry Cheng 

\-----

From: hbotb2017@gmail.com   
To: rcganseyiii@gmail.com, sk8rboiczerny@yahoo.com, whydoineedanemail@gmail.com

Greetings, **Lost Kings**!

It's your host, Henry Cheng, here to once again congratulate you on making it through to the first round of competition! And also provide you with those much needed details.

Our crew has been hard at work putting together the stages on which you will be performing, but with just enough time, things are complete!

As you are well aware, in the beginning, because of our wide roster, the rounds are split across two nights of intense competition. We're so excited to tell you that you'll be performing the **second** night, in the **third** slot, against _Novelty_.

 

(And while it's not required, you're highly encouraged to attend both nights of competition! You could be competing against one of those groups sometime soon!)

_Please have at least one member of your group respond to this email with a confirmation, and you'll be all set._ The address and any further instructions are included in the PDF linked below.

~ Have a Rockin' Day,

Henry Cheng 

\-----

From: adam.parrish1@gmail.com  
To: hbotb2017@gmail.com 

TMATM will be there; thank you.

\- Adam P.

\-----

From: sk8rboiczerny@yahoo.com  
To: hbotb2017@gmail.com 

sick

~ nc ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: First Performances / Week Two

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @desertrosetico where im always chilling and always up for asks!


End file.
